The Temporal Void

by Peter F. Hamilton

  ‘Dinlay,’ Edeard called. ‘Take Urarl’s squad, and split off down the next alley.’ He held up the map so only his friend could see it. ‘That’s the building we want; you come at it from this side,’ his finger indicated. ‘Make sure no one leaves, remember to watch the windows, and the roof.’

  ‘What’s in there?’ Dinlay asked.

  Edeard leant forward so his lips were almost touching Dinlay’s ear. ‘The ingots.’

  The switch had been made with considerable precision in the middle of the night. As the gondolas loaded with ingots made their way back from the Chemistry Guild yard to the safety of Sampalok they passed under several bridges along Roseway Canal, including the broad stone and iron archway at the end of Abad’s Royal Boulevard, which led over to Nighthouse district. It took precision timing, but Ivarl made sure that another gondola was going in the opposite direction at exactly the same time. For a few seconds the gondolas were out of direct view of the ge-eagles which the constables were using to observe them. The solid bridge structure made farsight difficult especially when the gondolas were surrounded by a seclusion haze. Identical boxes were thrown between the gondolas.

  Edeard had to admire how smoothly they’d managed it. What Ivarl hadn’t taken into account was for Edeard to know the plan in its entirety, and be using the sight of a ge-cat swimming idly under the bridge. Grand Master Finitan had been happy to help, loaning Edeard fifteen of the genistars so he could position several under each bridge. Once Edeard had confirmed the switch had been made, it was easy for him to track the new gondolas as they took a long route back round to Myco, where they landed the boxes at a slipway. Ivarl’s men carried the boxes into a fisherman’s warehouse.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Chae’s sardonic longtalk reverberated round Edeard’s squads. ‘Captain Ivarl seems to be upset about something.’ His gifted sight showed the gang master rushing out of the house in Sampalok, his face red, almost running. Several of his lieutenants were following, their expressions anxious.

  Edeard grinned at the warehouse, twenty yards ahead now. The big doors were open, showing a gloomy interior filled with barrels. Several fishermen and women were sitting outside, mending nets. More nets were hung up in great loops inside, drying off.

  ‘Seal it up,’ Edeard told his squads.

  The people working on the nets looked up in alarm as the constables appeared. Ge-eagles swooped low, keeping a keen eye on the slipway leading into the warehouse. Ge-hounds growled in warning.

  ‘Please remain where you are,’ Edeard announced. ‘I have a warrant to search the premises.’

  Dinlay and two constables blocked one of the fishermen who tried to sprint away.

  ‘Kanseen, take Macsen and Droal inside, have a scan round for me, please. You might want to check the cellars.’

  ‘You sneaky beast,’ she muttered, grinning as she went into the warehouse.

  Then Edeard’s farsight caught someone running down the slipway on the other side of the warehouse. He jumped off the side of the canal, holding the surface of the water firm as he landed. It held his weight, with only a slight dint under each foot as he ran round to the slipway. People on the other side of the wide canal stooped and stared. Fingers were pointed. Cheers echoed across the icy water. Children called their friends to watch. It was the Waterwalker, they cried, he’s doing it again.

  Edeard arrived at the end of the slipway. Lian was there, trying to push a small dinghy into the water. ‘Don’t go,’ Edeard asked nicely. ‘We’re only just getting started.’

  Lian was longtalking frantically. One hand went to the coat pocket with his pistol.

  Edeard gave him a warning look. ‘It didn’t do Arminel any good. Remember?’

  Lian glared furiously, but backed away from the boat, raising his hands. Droal came down the slipway behind him and removed the pistol before slapping on the handcuffs.

  ‘What is going on?’ demanded the sergeant from Bellis station. Edeard’s farsight observed them arriving at the house in Sampalok.

  ‘We farsighted them moving the stolen items earlier,’ Edeard replied, keeping his mental tone level as he examined the dinghy. ‘Didn’t have time to tell you. Sorry. My runner has a list for you. It has the names of everyone involved in the Chemistry Guild robbery. Most of them live in the tenements close to the hideaway. Would you arrest them, please?’ He was aware of the callous humour shining out of Chae’s mind as the Bellis sergeant snatched the envelope from Felax.

  ‘Oh, Lady,’ Kanseen exclaimed. ‘Edeard, you’ve got to see this.’

  ‘On my way,’ he said.

  The cellar under the warehouse was one of Ivarl’s clandestine stores. Edeard had only taken a fast sweep with his farsight a couple of days earlier for fear of attracting attention. He’d noted the crates, bottles, and sacks piled up in the three vaulting cellars underneath. There were a lot of them.

  Macsen and Urarl began opening crates, finding an astonishing array of expensive silverware. Smaller boxes contained jewellery. The sacks held bales of raw drosilk. There were bags of tea and spices from provinces hundreds of miles along the coast. Bottles of fortified wines were stacked to the arching ceilings.

  ‘It’s going to take a week to list all this,’ Urarl said in astonishment. They’d only opened the first few boxes in one cellar.

  ‘Help’s on its way,’ Edeard assured him.

  By wonderful coincidence Ronark arrived at the same time as Ivarl. The Jeavons captain led three gondolas carrying accountants from the Guild of Clerks, who had followed Edeard down the Great Major Canal at a leisurely pace. They moored to the slipway at the same time Ivarl came hurtling out of Campden Avenue, out of breath and very very angry.

  ‘I forgot you said you lived around here.’ Edeard smiled at the gang master. ‘How nice to see you again.’

  Ivarl glared at Edeard, then at the impassive Captain Ronark. His gold-topped cane was raised. He hesitated.

  ‘Is there something we can do for you?’ Edeard asked as Dinlay and Kanseen carried the first boxes of ingots out of the warehouse. Ivarl’s wild-eyed stare switched to the boxes with their precious contents.

  ‘Would you like to retrieve something in here, perhaps?’ Edeard continued. ‘We’ll need to see an invoice of course. There are a great many items stored in the cellars. Strangely, the Mayor’s port inspectors have no record of them being landed at Makkathran, and consequently no duty being paid. I’m sure the accountants will soon calculate how much is owed on them. Until then they’ll be placed in a city store. Perhaps someone will come forward to claim them and pay the tax.’

  A reluctant grin appeared on Ivarl’s face. ‘You’re good, Waterwalker.’

  ‘Just doing my duty.’

  ‘But you have to be good the whole time. And good fortune is a fickle thing.’

  ‘Yes. I’m sure Tanamin will agree with that.’ It was two nights earlier when Edeard had listened to the sickening instructions Ivarl had issued to Harawold on the punishment to be given to Tanamin, who hadn’t extorted enough money from his patch in Fiacre district.

  Ivarl couldn’t cover up the flash of surprise in his mind. When he did veil his emotions he was regarding Edeard with the kind of caution reserved for a cornered fastfox. ‘Yes. Very good, I see that now. Are you sure you won’t accept my hospitality? Together we can accomplish a great deal.’

  ‘There’s not much to be accomplished from inside the Trampello mine.’

  ‘I see. That’s a shame.’

  ‘Was there anything else?’

  ‘No. Not today.’

  2

  By midday the Ellezelin paramilitary capsules streaking across Colwyn City had all taken to using their sirens, producing a constant doppler-mangled cacophony as they rushed between burgeoning trouble spots. Scarlet and azure laser fans would often sweep through the open balcony doors of Araminta’s apartment as another one flew across the park outside, accompanying the discordant sound. Araminta scowled as the dazzling light flared across the kitchen area of t
he living room once more. She’d been making herself a cup of tea from a kettle, while the old culinary unit strove to fabricate the components of a simple chicken sandwich. She cursed, and kicked the base of the stupid unit as another set of thermal error symbols flashed up on its screen. Perhaps the laser light was disturbing its internal systems?

  She sighed and shook her head, annoyed with herself for thinking something so silly. The worst thing was just sitting around doing nothing. Actually no, it’s not knowing what to do.

  Another capsule screeched overhead. Araminta slammed down the kettle, and stomped over to the open balcony doorway. The capsule had vanished behind the apartment building by the time she got there, presumably harassing the people in the park, which seemed to have developed into quite a centre for disobedience against the invaders. She would have liked to slam the doorway shut as well, but the glass wall sheet was formflow, so she had to settle for the glass slowly curtaining together. At least when it had become a single sheet again the sound of the sirens did reduce considerably – as it should with the expensive sound-deadening layer she’d added. The doorway had been open all day to give her some sense of connection to the city. It was kind of stupid, yet comforting at the same time. In fact, all she’d been doing was avoiding thinking about the real events. She’d certainly not done any work on the apartment.

  Her u-shadow had pulled a steady stream of news out of the unisphere, all relating to the Void expansion. There were very few hard facts, and far too much speculation and accusation. But her u-shadow was running an adequate filter, supplying her with the basics. Nothing much had changed. The observation team had evacuated Centurion Station. All the shows were playing the images of the base itself collapsing. Of more interest were the enigmatic DF spheres flying into orbit around the star. Commentators in the news studios were busy speculating on exactly what they were capable of; apparently they’d been copied by the Anomine who used them to imprison the Dyson Pair. Now everyone was hoping that they had more aggressive functions than simple force fields, no matter the gigantic scale.

  Despite the loss of Centurion Station, a large number of sensor systems out amid the Wall stars were still operational and feeding their data back to the Commonwealth via the tenuous Navy relay. The Void boundary continued to expand, its surface rippling and distending to engulf the star clusters already falling in towards it. That voraciousness was cited by many as having purpose. Which came back squarely to the Second Dreamer and the Skylord.

  After the balcony doors clicked shut she sank to her knees on the bare concrete floor. The tears she’d managed to contain all morning threatened to finally emerge. It’s too much. No one person can expect to deal with all of this. I can’t have put the entire galaxy in peril. I can’t.

  Her u-shadow reported a new file shotgunning into the unisphere, passed between each node without restriction by the management routines and given unlimited access to everybody’s interface address. It was a live feed to an address code she didn’t recognize, but had Earth as its node host.

  ‘Only ANA can achieve this level of coverage,’ the u-shadow told her.

  ‘Access it,’ she ordered. If ANA wanted to talk to everybody it must have some words of comfort.

  Gore Burnelli was standing on some rocky cliffs, his back to the clear tropical sea beyond. He wore a simple white shirt, his fair hair tousled by the breeze. Grey eyes stared out of a handsome twenty-year-old face, with skin tanned to a dusky gold. He looked directly at Araminta, making her feel incredibly guilty for no reason she could define.

  ‘I doubt anyone out there in the Greater Commonwealth will remember me,’ he said. ‘But I used to be one of the wealthy people who helped form the original Commonwealth. If you check my record you’ll see I had a brief moment of fame in the Starflyer War. I hope that what I’ve done in the past will qualify me for a moment of your time here now; however, this is not about me. I’m speaking to one person alone: the Second Dreamer. I understand that you didn’t realize the Skylord would kick off a devourment phase when you spoke to it. I don’t blame you. I don’t condemn you. And unlike everyone else I’m certainly not hunting you down. On which front, please be warned it’s not just Living Dream that’s coming for you, a number of other agents are searching, who represent various political factions both here in ANA and other Greater Commonwealth groups.’

  ‘Oh, great Ozzie,’ Araminta wailed. Now the tears really were flowing free.

  ‘Everyone is making a lot of demands of you,’ Gore said. ‘I expect you’re frightened and uncertain. I also expect you want to stay out of sight, certainly everything you’ve done so far indicates this. I appreciate that. You’re coming to terms with what you are, and nobody can help with that. You have a lot of decisions to make, and I don’t envy you any of them. If you want to get in touch with me, I’ll help in any way I can, that goes without saying. Again, that’s not why I am making this appeal. There is one thing that does not require a decision: the Void devourment phase must be stopped. As far as we are aware you are the only one who can currently do this. I say that because someone else is trying to help.’ Gore took a breath and squared his shoulders, trying to be brave. ‘My daughter, Justine, was at Centurion Station when the devourment kicked off. Unlike everyone else there, she didn’t head back home. Against all my wishes, my pleas, my hopes, she’s aimed her ship directly for the Void. It’s one of the secret ultradrive ships you may have heard rumours of. Very fast. Which means that in another day or so she’ll arrive at the boundary. Justine’s not like me, she’s sweet and kind, very much an optimist, all the things to be proud of in our species. She’s been involved in diplomatic work for centuries. She’s flying alone to the Void in the hope she can talk to the Skylord; she believes that reason will prevail. But first she has to get inside. Humans have done that once before. Inigo and the Waterwalker showed us that. I appeal to you, Second Dreamer, to contact the Skylord one last time, and ask it to let Justine in. That’s all, just ask it that one thing, nothing else. You don’t have to talk about the devourment phase, or the Pilgrimage. Just give my daughter a chance to try to negotiate with whatever passes for authority in there. Justine is going to fly into the boundary come what may; despite everything I’ve said to try to stop her, she believes in humanity, that our nature should be placed upon this alien altar and given a chance. She believes in us. I hope, I beg, you will do what you can to give her that chance. Don’t let my girl die in vain, I beseech you. If there’s anything you need or want, then contact me in complete safety at the code on this file. Please. One last time, help put a stop to what’s happening out there. There’s not much time left. Help her. Only you can.’

  Araminta put her hands over her head as the message finished, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and leave the universe altogether. ‘Thanks for fucking nothing,’ she told the haunting memory of Gore. At the same time she felt a tiny lifting of doubt. Maybe this Justine woman can do something. Maybe it’s not all down to me after all.

  That just left getting in touch with the Skylord without Living Dream and all the others tracking her down. Yeah, that should be dead easy for someone who can’t even get a culinary unit to make a sandwich.

  *

  In the middle of a desert of dry mud was a house, an igloo of baked sand. It had a wooden door that years ago had been painted dark green. Harsh sunlight and dusty winds had abraded it down to the bare wood, though some flecks of green still persevered in the cracks between the oak boards.

  He knew that door. Knew it well. Knew what lay behind.

  The sun hung at the apex of the world’s sapphire sky, bleaching all colour out of the desert. It was always thus.

  He dismounted from the huge Charlemagne just short of the igloo, his plain white robes flowing around him. The deep hood protected his face from the sun’s penetrating rays. Somehow, those few steps to the door took forever. His limbs were fighting an unknown force that resisted every movement. He kept asking himself if he wanted to do this b
ecause he eventually realized that the force fighting him was fear. Fear of what waited for him on the other side of the door. He carried on anyway, because in this, as always, he had no choice, no will, no independence. The effort left him trembling from exertion, but eventually the door was in front of him. He raised his hand, placing it palm down on the warm wood, feeling the familiar sand-smoothed grain. Pushed.

  The door opened, and darkness spilled out, contaminating the sunlight. It built round him like a fog, and his dread spiked upwards. But the door was open. There was nothing now between him and the person living in the house. Something moved in the shadows, a presence that was reaching out.

  ‘You and your father both had the courage to make the right choice in the end,’ a voice told him. ‘Not that my opinion counts for anything. But I’m glad. I figure I owe you this second chance.’

  ‘My father?’ He lurched forwards—

  —the ground crawler lurched again as the front tracks cleared another ice ridge, and the wedge nose tipped down sharply. Aaron shook himself as the real world claimed him back from bedlam, gripping the chair arms, staring out of the slit windscreen. It was profoundly dark outside, midnight beneath clouds that towered five kilometres into the screaming hurricane sky. Headlight beams were clotted by driving snow. The small glimpse of the ground they did allow revealed ice boulders half the size of the ground crawler. Regular bursts of lightning showed the wicked, sharp-edged boulders scattered across the frozen land in all directions without end. Narrow gaps between them were becoming fewer, and had been for the last hour. It was a nightmare geography out there. Their progress was pitiful, and getting worse.

  He checked the vehicle’s inertial navigation system. In the last two hours they’d travelled a grand total of seven and a quarter kilometres, and very little of that was in a nice straight line forwards. Over a day now since the unknown starship fired a Hawking m-sink into Hanko. He was beginning to wish he had the math to work out an accurate timetable for how long it would take the weapon to digest the planet from within. But knowing the exact moment when the continents would implode wasn’t going to make the ground crawler go any faster. His early rough estimate of three days was realistic enough.